


At the Goat and Dragon

by ignipes



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-13
Updated: 2006-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus Lupin and Lucius Malfoy make a deal that neither the Death Eaters nor the Order would be particularly happy about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Goat and Dragon

The fog was thick and cold, draping the clustered buildings and narrow streets of the village, cloaking the streetlamps and softening the edges of the dark buildings. Remus walked down a cobbled alley, choosing his steps carefully to keep from slipping on the damp stones. Somewhere below, at the bottom of the village, a bell rang at the quayside. The sound was muffled and strangely distant. Then it was gone, and the night was silent again.

He stopped before a tall stone building perched crookedly on the steep slope. Faint candlelight shone through the windows, obscured by years of dirt and grime. The wooden door swung open and a dark figure stumbled out. Remus stepped quickly into the shadows, pulling up the hood of his cloak. The door slammed, and the hanging sign above the door creaked as it swung back and forth. The man grunted, relieved himself on the back steps of the house across the alley, and shambled away, weaving unsteadily into the fog.

Remus glanced up at the gently swinging sign. The paint was faded and the wood rotten with holes, but even in the faint light the creatures were visible: a wild goat, twisted horns and cloven hooves, surprisingly unconcerned that the jaws of a leering black dragon were closing around its bearded throat.

He reached into his pocket and closed his fingers around his wand. Then, with a sigh, he pulled the door open and stepped inside.

The Goat and Dragon was crowded but quiet. Hunched men, wary women, hags and goblins and other not-quite-humans gripped glasses and tankards and avoided each other's gazes in the meagre candlelight. A fire burned low on the stone hearth across the room, casting a faint yellow glow on the two tattered wing chairs set before it. In the opposite corner a pair of dark shadows stood against the wall at the base of the staircase.

The barkeep leaned on the long wooden counter, toying idly with his long black moustache and staring at nothing. He nodded in greeting as Remus approached.

"Firewhiskey," Remus said, setting a few coins on the bar. He accepted the glass and turned around, resting his elbows on the bar.

None of the occupants met his eyes, though he knew that they knew he was watching them. Nobody came to the Goat and Dragon unless they had someone to meet. He studied a cloaked figure in the corner for a few moments, then a man with a wide-brimmed hat staring into an empty tankard, then the legs and arm of the man seated in one of the chairs by the fire. _There._ Remus sipped his whiskey, pushed away from the bar, and crossed the room.

He dropped into the empty chair by the fire. "Good evening," he said.

He lowered the hood of his cloak and tried to hide his surprise. It was suddenly quite easy to understand why Malfoy had agreed to meet him in such a public -- and disreputable -- place. Azkaban had not been kind to Lucius Malfoy; the man was nearly unrecognisable. His hair was cropped short, sticking out at odd angles from his head, and he was dressed in tattered, ill-fitting Muggle clothing. His posture was rigid, his back straight, one hand gripping the arm of the chair and the other holding a half-empty glass of amber liquid.

"You're late," Malfoy said. He did not look at Remus.

"I'm terribly sorry." Remus slid down in the chair, stretching his legs before him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy's lip curl, and he smiled slightly. He raised his glass and added, "There was a parade on the high street."

"I do not have time for your childish games," Malfoy snapped. He opened and closed his fist reflexively.

It was a gesture Remus recognised: a hand gripping the ghost of an iron bar. He studied Malfoy's face more closely. His face was gaunt, but his eyes were cold, calculating, not empty. It was difficult to imagine Azkaban without the dementors. Remus wondered about the human guards, Ministry lackeys assigned to a job no wizard had held in hundreds of years, sent to do a task that had long been considered the duty of monsters. If nothing else, the human guards had certainly made it easier to escape, if one knew which palms to grease.

Remus looked away. "Of course," he said. "Your schedule must be quite full, fleeing from both the Ministry and your former master." _Both of whom,_ Remus did not add, _would dearly love to see you back in Azkaban._

"My master is of no--" Malfoy broke off as suddenly as he had begun. After a long pause, he said, "That is not why we are here. We are here because you are--"

"--immensely curious," Remus said. He stretched his legs toward the fire, trying to feel the warmth. Through the smoke and low murmur of voices in the pub, he could almost feel the fog creeping through the warped window panes and filthy floorboards. "Nothing more. Don't fool yourself. What do you want?"

"My son has not been found since the -- the unfortunate _incident_ at Hogwarts. My wife is frantic with worry."

Remus took a swallow of whiskey and shook his head in mild disbelief. "She must be, if the number of owls she has sent your way is any indication."

That earned a reaction; Malfoy leaned forward slightly, finally turning to look at Remus.

Remus went on, "It's terrible to see a woman fall apart like that. If she isn't careful, she'll lead the Ministry right to you."

The door of the pub opened and Remus shifted in his chair, looking past Malfoy. He could only see about a third of the room from his position by the fire, but it was enough to see that the newcomers, a man and a woman in dark cloaks, heading straight for the staircase, were likely no threat. When they vanished into the shadows, Remus looked at Malfoy again. Malfoy was scowling fiercely into the fire, eyes narrow, hand once again clenched on the arm of the chair.

"My wife's clumsy schemes," Malfoy said slowly, "are irrelevant."

Remus rolled his eyes. "She's not an idiot. It wasn't by chance that she remained free while you were imprisoned."

Affronted, Malfoy straightened his shoulders. "You dare suggest that I am not the master in my own house?"

Remus resisted for about two seconds, then laughed out loud. "I doubt you were master in your own house even when you were _in_ your house."

"You impertinent _beast!_" Malfoy's voice was loud enough to draw curious glances from the other patrons, and he shifted forward in the chair, reaching into the pocket of his Muggle trousers. "How dare you speak to me--"

"Oh, stop." Remus lifted his glass and gestured vaguely behind him.

"They won't even blink if I kill you," Malfoy said, sneering.

"You're out of practice, and you're using a stolen wand. Stop making a fool of yourself."

"How dare you--"

"You already asked me that. Now," Remus interrupted, "while it is finally becoming clear who, exactly, holds the reins -- and the brains, it seems -- in your family, that does not explain what you want, nor why I am the one you're asking."

"I--"

"And, please," Remus continued, "do not say 'for old time's sake'--"

Sitting back in the chair finally, Malfoy snorted. "Farthest thought from my mind."

"--because we both know better than that."

Malfoy shut his mouth on his response and seethed silently. Remus sipped his whiskey and waited.

"I want to find my son," Malfoy snarled finally. The words were low and slow, an attempt at menace.

"Your paternal concern is very touching, but I don't believe you."

"What you believe is not important," Malfoy said, his voice rising.

Remus tried not to smile. The world of Lucius Malfoy was not divided into purebloods and mudbloods, Death Eaters and opponents, enemies and allies, in spite of what anybody believed about the man. The world was divided, quite simply, into _important_ and _unimportant_.

"I want to find my son," Malfoy went on, "and you have information that may be pertinent."

Unsurprised but intrigued, Remus raised an eyebrow. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"My wife does not know," Malfoy began, "or she would be using a different tactic to--"

"Bring you to heel," Remus offered helpfully.

Malfoy glared at him. "You would know all about being _brought to heel_, wouldn't you?"

"Just because your side hasn't found the lad doesn't mean my side is hiding him," Remus pointed out.

"Don't be ridiculous." Malfoy waved a hand dismissively. "I have no illusions about my son's ability to take care of himself. If he has managed to stay hidden this long, somebody must be helping him."

The door opened again. Remus glanced around the side of the chair. A group of men entered, heavy boots thumping on the floorboards. There were five or six in a tight huddle of oddly well-cut robes and blank faces; amoeba-like, they moved toward the bar as a single unit, and the barkeep straightened his bony shoulders nervously.

Remus turned back toward the fire. Not a good sign, that.

"Even if I did know where he was," he began, running his fingers along the grimy arm of the chair, "you have been in Azkaban for over a year. I doubt you have any information worth the trade."

"Trade?" Malfoy looked at Remus sharply, and Remus wondered if he was imagining the spark of respect he saw in the man's eyes. "You would trade the safety of a child for information?"

Remus shrugged and said, with deliberate casualness, "He's not a child I particularly care about." _And I still don't believe that he is all you want,_ he did not say. There would be time enough for the negotiations to turn truthful later.

"Dumbledore would be appalled." Malfoy was amused.

"Dumbledore is dead." Behind him, at the bar, voices rose in anger, and there was the sound of footsteps pounding on the steps. "And you," Remus said, standing, "have nothing to offer. Good evening."

Malfoys hand whipped out and closed around Remus' wrist. "Revenge," he said.

Remus looked down.

"Your revenge, against that creature who bit you. You know you can't achieve it alone, or you would have years ago. And who will help you now? That eldest Weasley brat?" Malfoy's mouth twisted as though the words tasted bad. "None of your noble Order will condone cold-blooded murder, even of so wretched a monster. They have probably told you to be patient, to allow the Aurors to do their work, perhaps don't even believe you capable of it--"

There was a scream on the first floor, and the sound of running. Behind the bar, the barkeep held a bottle in one hand and his wand in the other. Three of the well-dressed wizards who had come in were waiting at the bottom of the steps, arms crossed over their chests.

Remus met Malfoy's eyes and pried his arm loose. "Good evening," he said again, nodding slightly.

He walked slowly across the room toward the door, scarcely daring to breath until he opened the door. The cold, dense fog surrounded him as he stepped outside.

He did not go far. He stopped in a dark space between two old buildings, just up the steep alley from the pub. From within the Goat and Dragon, he heard the sound of breaking glass, startled shouts, and another scream. In the distance, the bell on the quayside was ringing again, and a mournful foghorn echoed in the night.

Remus pulled up the hood of his cloak, leaned against the moss-covered stone wall, and waited for Malfoy to follow.


End file.
